


With Enemies Like These

by zelda_zee



Category: Justified
Genre: Multi, POV Second Person, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:44:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe they would fuck you just for the hell of it, just because it’s a boring, rainy Tuesday afternoon and they don’t have anything better to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Enemies Like These

There’s a reason you’re at Ava Crowder’s house, and it doesn’t have anything to do with sitting on the front porch with her and Boyd in the middle of a rainstorm, drinking homebrewed hooch that has good chance of leaving you blind.

In fact, you had come there for a damn good reason, one to do with your suspicions that Boyd was involved in some new malfeasance the nature of which escapes you at the moment, thanks to the aforesaid homebrewed hooch.

You know you shouldn’t be here, drinking with Ava and Boyd (my God, what would Art say), but it’s just so goddamn hard to always be fighting the life you left behind, and once in a while the urge to let yourself return to who you were way back when (who you’ll never stop being, truth be told) gets too strong to ignore. When you’d driven up to the house and seen the two of them sitting there sharing a bottle, and they’d actually smiled at you (that was the moonshine, no doubt), looking so homey and comfortable, and Ava’d said, _take a load off, Raylan_ and Boyd had scooted over to make room for you on the couch, why then it was just that easy to take the bottle that Ava handed you and tip your head back, let the booze burn its way down your throat.

After that, it was easy to sink back into the ratty old couch next to Boyd, and it was easy to take another swig when the bottle came ‘round again, and again, and then it started pouring rain so there wasn’t much point in going anywhere anyway.

Ava is sitting in an old white wicker armchair, her feet propped up on the porch railing, legs spread. “It’s hot,” she’d said, when she caught you staring as she hiked her dress up her thighs. “I gotta air out a bit.”

Boyd’s sitting between you, wearing black jeans and a shirt that’s buttoned up to the collar. If he’s feeling the heat, he’s not showing it. He’s barefoot, and your eyes keep being drawn back to his feet, pale and oddly delicate looking. 

You shift a bit, clothes sticking to your skin in the humidity. The air feels saturated, a warm weight surrounding you.

“You know what we should do?” Ava says, slurring her words a little. She looks back and forth between you with a secretive smile. She quirks an eyebrow at Boyd and he takes his cue.

“What should we do, Ava?”

Ava licks her lips, glancing at Boyd, then focuses on you. “We should fuck.”

You snort, roll your eyes. Boyd laughs under his breath.

“I’m serious,” she says. “Think about it.”

And you do, just for a minute, and it’s enough to make you swallow, suddenly nervous.

Boyd’s not looking at either of you. He’s staring out into the yard, or what can be seen of the yard through the downpour. “Why Ava, I do believe you’re right. We should,” Boyd says calmly, as if she’d suggested they should do something quite normal – take another drink or drive into town for dinner. He looks at you and smiles, an unholy gleam in his eye.

You give him a squint-eyed grin and toss back a shot. No way they’re serious.

"Boyd,” you say, handing him the bottle, “We are not near drunk enough to go there.”

Boyd just laughs, tilts back the bottle for a long swallow and you are not watching the line of his neck when he does so. Indeed, you are not.

“I don’t _need_ to be drunk,” Boyd says, leaning towards you, his eyes shining, and God help you, you believe him because the man is crazy as a shithouse rat, and Ava’s right there along with him. Maybe they would fuck you just for the hell of it, just because it’s a boring, rainy, Tuesday afternoon and they don’t have anything better to do.

“Didn’t know you swung that way, Boyd,” you say mildly, but you know Boyd catches the edge in your tone.

“Believe it or not, there’s an awful lot you don’t know about me, Raylan,” Boyd drawls. “I wouldn’t jump to any hasty conclusions, if I were you.”

Ava takes a drink from the bottle, which has not ceased its rounds through all this, and gets to her feet. She comes to stand in front of you and slides onto your lap, knees up on the couch, straddling your legs. You hold your hands up and out, lean back as far as you can.

“I ain’t touching her,” you say to Boyd, because he’s probably got a gun on him, and you’re not sure you could get to yours first with a lap full of Ava.

“I can see that.” Boyd looks amused, which is a hell of a lot better than murderous.

“Ava, I am mindful of the honor you do me, but it might be best if you were to get up off of my lap _now_.” You don’t say _before Boyd shoots me in the head_ , but you’re sure as hell thinking it.

“Shut up, Raylan,” Ava says, leaning close. She tips your head up to look at her as she smiles sweetly down at you. “Boyd ain’t gonna do nothin’. Are you, Boyd?” You both look at him, Ava still smiling, you with God knows what kind of expression on your face. 

“I can’t make that promise, Ava, but I ain’t gonna shoot him, if that’s what he’s worried about.”

“There? Y’see?” Ava says. “He ain’t gonna shoot you if you put your hands on me.” She waits until she has your attention. “So put your hands on me, Raylan.”

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing – either of you,” you glance at Boyd, “but this is a really dumb idea.”

“Baby,” Ava says, combing her fingers through your hair, “this is the best idea I’ve had in a _very_ long time,” and then she kisses you and you make a sound, protesting and surprised, when you’re really neither. You look sideways at Boyd, figuring he’ll be hauling back to punch you or worse, but he’s just watching, focused on you and Ava with an intensity that makes the muscles in your stomach tighten, tension infusing your body. It makes you want to move, or punch something, or – or –

“Go ahead, Raylan,” Boyd says in that soft way of talking he’s got that’s almost a whisper. “Kiss her.”

_Oh, fuck it_ , you think and you grab Ava to you, pull her in close and kiss her like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Ava moans and opens up to you, kisses you back just as hard, just as dirty. She tastes like moonshine and Juicy Fruit, smells like rain and sweat and the faint, heady scent of gardenia from the perfume she must’ve put on that morning. You kiss her deep and long and she feels good, so good that you forget about why this is a bad idea. When she bites your bottom lip, when her tongue chases yours, when you part only to pant against each other’s mouths for a few seconds before going back for more, this seems like such a _good_ idea, just like Ava said.

You put your hands on her bare thighs, slide them up under the hem of her dress and your right hand bumps into Boyd’s, already there. You move away like you’ve been burnt, but he grabs your wrist, holds you there, guides your hand higher until your fingertips brush the elastic of Ava’s panties.

Ava moans into your mouth as your fingers slip underneath, gasps as you touch the soft folds of her pussy, whimpers when you reach the center of her where she’s wet and slick and wanting. Boyd’s hand is still around your wrist and you think about him feeling how your hand moves as you touch Ava, about him knowing exactly what you’re doing.

Your kisses have gotten sloppy, too much panting and moaning to really make it good, and when your fingers brush Ava’s clit her head falls back as she cries out. You press your face to her neck, let her grind against your palm as she rides your fingers. You feel dizzy and overwhelmed, painfully aroused, your dick a solid ache pushed up against your zipper, but peripherally aware that you’re still sitting on the porch and that Boyd hasn’t taken his eyes off the two of you, not once, since this thing began.

Boyd finally lets go of you to move close to Ava, nuzzling the side of her face until she turns and kisses him. You watch them, breathing fast, keeping quiet even though it makes you want to moan. You try not to let it distract you from what you’re doing, keep your focus on Ava, on making it good for her, and she seems to be loving it from the way she’s moving, faster now, and the sounds she’s making, muffled though they are. Boyd’s got a hand on her tit, thumb rubbing over her nipple through the thin cotton of her dress and you can’t stop staring at it, the way he rubs, circles, squeezes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” you say, quiet, but Boyd looks at you, his eyes dark.

“’M gonna come, Boyd, oh God ‘m gonna come,” Ava whimpers.

“That’s good, darlin’,” Boyd says low, not looking away from you. “You do that, you come for me.”

Your cock jerks hard against the confinement of your jeans and you shudder as a wave of heat washes over you and you’re suddenly so turned on that for a second you think you might come in your pants. You couldn’t say (wouldn’t want to) whether it was Boyd looking at you that way and saying those words or Ava coming on your fingers that brought on that reaction.

You watch Ava come, feeling her contract around your fingers as she cries out, her head falling onto Boyd’s shoulder, and it’s such a pretty sight, the way she moves on you, the sounds she makes. She buries her face in Boyd’s neck and groans as it leaves her, coming to a stop draped limply over him.

For a moment there’s no sound, no movement other than the rain. 

“Holy shit,” Ava sighs, smoothing her hair back from her face. She looks beautiful, dazed and flushed and smiling, her eyes still hazy. Her skin is damp with perspiration and it’s soaked through her dress under her arms. She moves back, gets unsteadily to her feet, catching herself on the porch railing when she almost stumbles. 

“Whoa.” She laughs, rubbing her forehead. “Guess I’m pretty drunk.”

“Maybe you should lie down,” Boyd says.

“Maybe we should _all_ lie down,” Ava replies, giving him an arch look.

It’s a measure of either your own drunkenness or insanity that you don’t even make a pretense of reluctance. You look at Boyd, and he shrugs.

“Well, hell,” you say, and get to your feet.

 

Ava’s bedroom is cooler than it is outside, with a fan that blows warm air over your sweaty skin. You strip off your shirt as you enter, sit at the foot of the bed, your back to Boyd, to pull off your boots and socks. The rain pounds loudly on the roof, a steady drumming that mutes the beating of your heart. 

Ava’s in the shower. You can hear the sound of the water running over the rain. Every once in a while you can hear her voice, singing snatches of a Patsy Cline song.

“This something you think your God would approve of?” you ask Boyd as you climb onto the bed. He’s leaning against the headboard, looking deceptively composed but for the fingers of one hand twitching against the quilt. You notice that the top button of his shirt is now undone.

“I don’t know, Raylan. God doesn’t confide His thoughts to me as I once believed He did.” Boyd’s lip pulls sideways into a small, rueful smile. “The Bible does tell us to love our enemies, though.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “Am I your enemy, Boyd?”

“Well,” Boyd replies, sitting up and fixing you with a steady look. “I’d say that pretty much depends on what day of the week it is, wouldn’t you?”

You smile, because yeah. That’s about right. 

“What about today?” you ask.

Boyd leans closer, until his face fills your field of vision. It makes adrenaline surge through your body. All you can think is how dangerous it is to be this close.

“Nah,” he says, and his fingertips brush your chin. “Not today.”


End file.
